


Acts Of Service

by tothewcrld



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Catholicism, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Getting Together, M/M, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothewcrld/pseuds/tothewcrld
Summary: Crowley gets in trouble with the law and has to do community service, in which he must help a priest renovate his church. He begins to take a liking for the interesting Father Fell.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is a very very hopeful attempt of an ineffable husbands multi-chapter fic. I don't have strict update dates because It's hard for me to stick to them, but I will try to update as often as I can because I love this plot very much! I truly hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.   
> Much love, 
> 
> V

“The defendant, Anthony J. Crowley, is declared Guilty to the robbery of August 15th, 2018. The defendant will be sentenced to 1 year of probation, and will serve 300 hours of community service at an assigned location. This location will be at St. John’s Catholic church. Good luck, Mr. Crowley, and I hope to not have to see you again.” The tired looking middle aged judge bangs her gavel. “You are all dismissed.” 

Crowley’s upper body hunches over in exhaustion and he walks out of the courtroom toward the officer holding Crowley’s personal things in a clear plastic bag as well as all the documents he needed to proceed with his probation and service hours. He gathers up his belongings, and leaves the courthouse, fishing his phone out of the plastic bag to turn it back on and call for an uber. The ride home feels too long to Crowley and he runs his fingers through his slightly tangled, red hair. When the uber drops him off at his flat, he tiredly goes up the stairs to his door, sets a quick alarm on his phone for the next day, plugs it in to charge it, and immediately climbs into bed to fall asleep. 

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Crowley awakes the next day to the sound of his alarm and he groans, stretching his long thin body, hearing the sounds of his bones crack in certain places. He showers and blow dries his hair, scowling at himself in the mirror before putting on tight black jeans and a black t-shirt with a lightweight jacket on top, putting his hair into a half up-do. He shoves his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and heads out for the church. The drive to the church is occupied by the sound of Freddie Mercury coming out through the speakers of Crowley’s Bentley, It’s A Hard Life getting cut off mid-song by Crowley, who has taken the key out of the ignition. He glances at his reflection in his rear view mirror and crinkles his nose at the sight of himself, getting out of the car and locking it behind him. He stands in front of the church and takes a moment to take it in. It’s small, smaller than what Crowley expected, with stone walls and stained glass windows. He makes his way inside and finds it empty. Crowley walks further inside, looking upward at the high pointed ceiling and to his sides at the old, worn out pews. “Hello?” He says in a voice slightly louder than his regular one. He waits for a response, and from the left side of the stage of the church, a door opens and a fluffy blond haired head pops out. 

“Oh, hello! You must be Mr. Crowley.” A body joins the head and the man comes out from the opening, shutting the door behind him before walking toward Crowley. “I’m Father Fell.” The man, Father Fell, smiles at him and extends his plump hand out for Crowley to shake. Crowley hesitates, before shaking Father Fell’s hand, his bony fingers wrapping around Father Fell’s warm hand. “I’m glad you could make it, though I know you didn’t have much of a choice on that, huh?” Crowley shakes his head no and Father Fell nods understandingly. He lets go of Crowley’s hand and motions for the taller man to follow him. “Yes, sorry about that, Judge Avery usually allows her defendants to pick the place where they’d like to complete their service hours, but she owed me a small… favor, and so she promised she’d send me someone to lend a hand around the church, and it just so happens that she picked you to be my victim.” Father Fell gives Crowley a half apologetic smile and leads him toward a small office. The office is neat, with multiple bookcases filled to the brim with books, many about religion, and a single gold cross was hung on the wall behind what Crowley assumed was Father Fell’s desk. Father Fell sits down in the comfortable looking rolling chair behind the desk and motions for Crowley to sit as well. “Now, Mr. Crowley -”

“Crowley is fine, no ‘Mister’, please.” Crowley interrupts and Father Fell gives him a nod before continuing, 

“Crowley, you’ve been assigned 300 hours of community service. Each “full” day of community service is about 8 hours, 7 if we don’t count our lunch break, which would add up to around roughly 42 days of community service. Would you like to spread out your days to a couple of days every week? How would you like to schedule your hours?” 

Crowley shakes his head and pushes his glasses higher up on his nose from the upper left corner of the left frame with the back of his right hand. “Sign me up for every day for the next 42 days.” 

Father Fell’s grey-blue eyes go wide. “Consecutively?” He asks to clarify. 

“Yeah,” Crowley responds. “Consecutively.” Father Fell gives him an almost shy smile, overpowered ever so slightly by surprise. “ Better to just get it over with,” Crowley adds and that dims Father Fell’s smile a little bit, but looks down at a small hand-held calendar and picks up a black ink pen writing “Crowley” on the date, September 25th. Crowley watches the priest count 42 days from the date stopping on November 6th, once again writing ‘Crowley’ in the box. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get started.” 

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Father Fell leads Crowley out to the back of the church where weeds are growing freely from the ground all over the backyard of the church. There was a small worn gazebo in the far back of the yard, vines wrapped around the frames of the aging structure. “I’ve let it get pretty bad out here. I’d try and maintain it all on my own, but unfortunately, I’m the only priest in this building, which isn’t common but-” Father fell shrugs. “Anyways, I was hoping you could help me clear all of the weeds out and paint the gazebo. Sometimes people want to get married out here and it’s embarrassing to have to turn them down due to the condition of the backyard.” Crowely’s eyes scan the yard and he nods. He takes off his jacket looks over at Father Fell. “D’you have trash bags and gloves?” 

“Oh, yes of course, give me just a moment.” Father Fell makes his way back inside and Crowley tries his hardest not to watch the man leave. He doesn’t look like he’d be a priest, Crowley decides. Crowely eventually gives into his mental battle and studies Father Fell, focusing on the thickness of his thighs and the way the clouded sunlight flickers through Father Fell’s light blond hair. A blush almost rises to his cheeks. No, Crowley affirms, he doesn’t look like he’d be a priest at all. They spend the whole morning tearing weeds out of the dirt, a pleasant silence washing over them, accompanied with a light lunch. When the first day of his service is over, Crowley gathers his jacket and wipes his hands off on the front of his black pants, sweaty from the gloves. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Father Fell.” 

Father Fell smiles at Crowley. “Please, call me Zira, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together and so it’s best to lose the formalities sooner rather than later.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise and he gives a hesitant nod. “Alright… Zira. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow.” Zira gives him a small wave, the smile still on his face and Crowley finds himself smiling as well when he waves back, before getting in his car and driving home.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley returns the next day in more comfortable clothing for the job Zira has asked him to finish with a cup holder containing two cups of tea, sunglasses on his face even though it’s cloudier than usual. He walks into the church looking around for the blonde haired man before resorting to calling out his name. Once again Zira appears from his small office space, looking slightly surprised that Crowley has two cups in his hand and not one. “Here.” Crowley says, extending one of his hands out towards Zira, offering him one of the cups. Zira smiles at him, taking the cup graciously, before taking a sip. 

“Oh this was very nice of you, thank you.” He says gratefully biting back a wider smile at the way Crowley crinkles his nose at the sound of the word ‘nice’. 

“Let’s get on with it.” Crowley replies instead, but his lips turn up in the smallest imitation of a smile towards Zira before making his way back outside. Zira grabs some more trash bags and gloves, before heading out as well, following after the taller man. They finish tearing out the weeds of the entire left side of the church before lunch time, heading back in to eat some sandwiches Zira has made for them. They sit in one of the pews and Zira hands Crowley his sandwich, earning him a mumbled ‘thanks’ from the taller man. 

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask this but,” Zira begins, clearing his throat, “what did you do? To have to come here?” Crowley visibly tenses up and Zira immediately regrets asking, but then Crowley sighs, looking down at his nibbled sandwich in his hands, shoving his glasses up with his shoulder. 

“I was involved in a robbery with some so-called mates of mine. But we got caught and they threw me under the bus for everything, even though it wasn’t completely my fault.” Crowley scowls at that, taking an annoyed bite out of his sandwich. “So I confessed and testified against them and I got a plea deal. And here I am now.” He wraps up his little story with a shrug before finishing off his sandwich, wiping his hands on his dark jeans.   
“Oh.” Zira says softly and continues to eat, the silence filled with slight tension over the short conversation. 

“We should keep working.” Crowley says as soon as Zira finishes, getting up and walking out of the church, leaving Zira still inside sitting down. When Zira walks out, he finds Crowley tearing out the weeds behind the church, working in silence. 

“Sorry I asked.” Zira tells Crowley, wringing his hands. 

Crowley stops to look up at the priest before looking back down. “It’s fine.” He says simply and continues working, not saying anything else. They finish the day off just as it begins to drizzle, and Crowley waves goodbye again making his way back to his Bentley to go home. Zira watches him go, until Crowley is in his car, driving off, further and further from view, before making his way back inside, curiosity about the other man taking up more and more space in his mind.


End file.
